(Oh my gosh, what am I doing with my life. XD I haven't uploaded anything Elder Scrolls related in forever…poor Trial and Error is rusting away back in my archives. (A quick Trial and Error update: If you read TaE back when I was still uploading at least monthly, I'd like you all to know I'm working on the fourth chapter, but obviously Skyrim has taken over my life and I probably wouldn't have even written this if I hadn't been so driven last night to get it done. XD ) Anyways, enjoy this randomness of mine. It might turn into a bunch of random ficlets centered on Skyrim and my OCs; I obviously have a rampant love for the Bosmer, because every other character I have is a wood elf. XD Please enjoy Bain, my wood elf archer. 3 Kisses! ~ RforRebel )
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Rorikstead; 16th of Frostfall, 201 year of the Fourth Era
Erik can remember the first day he laid eyes on Bain. He was on hands and knees with a spade in one hand and a mud caked potato in the other, toiling away in the crop field across the way from his father's inn when the wood elf came into view, still a far ways off down the road. It was a particularly warm day for being the middle of Frostfall, a cloudless sky allowing the sun to gaze down upon Nirn without interference; Erik was going a bit red in the face from the strain of work, and it was only by Kyne's sweet breath that he didn't have to stop every thirty minutes for a drink of water from the well.
The red haired young man probably wouldn't have noticed the traveler if he hadn't been looking up when he did. People passed through Rorikstead in fits and bursts, but they were rarely as travel-weary or beaten looking as the man coming down the road, even less so were they ever elf-born. It was this, and only this, that made him watch the elf until he was past the first farmstead; once the Bosmer had gotten closer, Erik felt rude for gawking so openly and cast his eyes back to his work, but not before seeing him start up the hill to the front of the inn. He was contented with the fact that he would know more of the guest later, and went back to his work of planting leek tubers.
A few hours had passed, perhaps a little more, when Erik heard the door to the inn open once more; the door was unnaturally squeaky and the chill air made the metal brittle, causing a loud uproar whenever the joints moved together. He glanced up expecting to see one of the farmers or a guard returning to duty after break, but instead found himself staring once more at the man from earlier, looking admittedly more put together and perhaps a chance bit cleaner. He seemed to have a lighter load as well, and Erik absently wondered if he was just an unusual hunter passing through to sell off some pelts and meats; it seemed a bit unlikely, though, for it was later in the day (about five in the afternoon) and unless the elf was foolishly going to hunt by moonlight or was hoping to make it to Old Hroldan before night fall, he would have done better to stay the night in Rorikstead. The sun set earlier during the winter seasons, and in Frostfall most particularly; game was hard to come by unless you started early in the morn, and five was about the time when most hunters returned home, the last stragglers coming in at about seven at the latest.
No matter what his pursuits, the elf made his way back out of town and disappeared over a conjoining hill. Erik watched on for a few moments, and then shrugged. He would find out the man's excursion soon enough; he collected a bushel of potatoes and one of the buckets from the well and kept on towards the inn, stopping only briefly to gather water from the rain trough next to the house before continuing inside.
His father greeted him mildly as he came in, kicking the door closed behind himself with the heel of his boot. He set the pall and the potatoes next to the large rectangular hearth and walked to the counter.
"Grounds getting harder," The younger man commented distractedly, grabbing a small carving knife from under the counter.
"What do you expect, boy; it's winter," His father chuckled lightly, rubbing a mug with a stained, threadbare cloth, "How's the harvest coming?"
"Exceptionally. When has it not?"
Erik lingered, grimacing as he tried to think of a way to bring up the Bosmer traveler to his father. Mralki eyed him suspiciously and let his son flounder for a few moments before setting the mug down and picking up another.
"Say your piece, son, the potatoes still need peeling."
"The elf," Erik sputtered after another moment, staring at his father intently, "he seemed…out of place. Was he a hunter?"
His father seemed to tense a little. "Not a hunter, no. Had quite a few pelts and a lot of choice venison he was willing to let go of though. He also had a nice bow, a make I haven't seen anywhere since possibly the Great War. A real charming character, too, extremely polite. He paid for a room for the night and said he'd be back a little later to actually sleep in it." Mralki forced a laugh, and Erik realized he'd beaten around the question.
"Why was he here, though? We haven't seen a Bosmer out these ways in ages." Erik pressed. He had this achy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and for some reason he knew why his father wasn't telling him.
His father set the flagon down a bit harsher than really needed. "What does it matter, Erik? He ain't a hunter and he isn't here to set up a farm, so it's not much of your concern."
Erik prickled, because that was what his father always said; the young Nord had a proud and fiery temper, as was custom with most Nords, but his anger was something fierce to behold and matched a peak as sizzling as his coppery hair when provoked just the right way. His hands tightened almost painfully on the counter.
"He's an adventurer, isn't he?"
Mralki threw his hands into the air, the tension in his person causing his check to jump with anger. "Do you ever listen to a word that comes out of my mouth, boy? It's none of your damned business, you hear?"
His father's face had taken on a somewhat purplish hue, and Erik knew he should quit his pursuit for answers, but his mouth rushed ahead of him. "Because the only business I should ever take care of is peeling potatoes for the rest of my life, isn't that it? You're so worried I'll go off on my own you won't even say the word 'adventure'. It's hurtful, father, not to even mention demeaning."
He pushed off the counter with a noise of disgust before his father could throw one of mugs he was cleaning into Erik's face; the young Nord stalked to the chair closest to the fire with peeling knife in hand and proceeded to set half the water to boil on the curbstones of the hearth and used the dregs left over to wash the soil from the brown vegetables.
Two more hours passed and Erik had almost finished with the peeling and had most of the potatoes boiling into a stew when the door gave it's broken shriek of admittance and an almost lofty, sinewy figure graced the door frame. It took the Nord a moment to recognize the elf, but when he did, he found himself rising to his feet unexpectedly, a half formed question for assistance on his chapped lips. The Bosmer flashed a smile that sent the Nord back into his seat and waved a hand at Mralki, pacing to the counter with long but tired looking strides.
"Good afternoon, sera." The Bosmer said, inclining his head in some sort of bow of respect. His voice sounded dry and low, though it wasn't a sickly kind of voice; it sounded like rustling leaves on a brisk autumn day, full of color and laughter. Erik raked his eyes confusedly down the stranger's back, his excessively civil manner uncommon in the usually loud and boisterous airs of the Frostfruit Inn. Mralki smiled, setting aside his mug and giving a quick glance to Erik as if to say 'What did I tell you?'
"Good afternoon to you." Mralki returned. The elf placed a knapsack from his back onto the counter without preamble and produced two large bear pelts, obviously freshly skinned. Mralki raised his brows at the Bosmer as he ran his hands over the pelts, the elf leaning against the counter with his elbows.
"…Bears really aren't too fond of people trying to catch salmon in their rivers." The long-eared man explained, a good-natured smile cracking his face, making the tiny lines around his dark ochre eyes crinkle a little. Erik started chopping up some carrots almost absently as he listened, his eyes transfixed by the mysterious stranger.
"Mara's mercy." Erik's father breathed, holding the pelts up at arm's length; they were long enough that they still drooped over onto the counter. "How much are you asking for them? The inn needs new bedding…my highest offer could only be around fifty Septims-"
The Bosmer waved a hand. "Fifty Septims for both would be more than enough." Seeing Mralki's obvious start of surprise, he smiled again, but a bit more sheepishly. "I wasn't able to get much in the way of food for my own supper because of said bears. A meal for the night would be a sufficient enough payment for the rest."
Mralki was nodding his head before the elf had even finished. "Of course, of course. Pull up a seat by the fire, my son Erik's just finishing up the stew."
"Your kindness humbles me, sera," the Bosmer said with sincerity as he accepted the small coin purse and folded up his knapsack again. He tossed it onto his free shoulder, and turned around to face the hearth. The Nord's blue eyes widened as they locked with the elf's, and he quickly looked back down to the leeks he was now currently chopping, feeling his ears and checks burn. He heard the faintest chuckle come from the counter, but he couldn't tell if it was the elf's or his father's.
Black hair, scar, orange eyes, voice like leaves. A voice like leaves…
Erik felt his face heat even more, hearing the voice flight through his head again. 'Bears really aren't too fond of people…A meal for the night-'
"Your stew's going to boil over."
"Huh?"
The Nord looked up at the pot in front of him and cursed, grabbing a nearby cloth and moving the pot further off the stones to a cooler spot. He looked up into the face of the mysterious elf, who smiled at him again, a small curling of lips that Erik felt was a tad…seductive. As the Bosmer pulled up a stool next to him, Erik realized he was a lot younger looking that he originally thought.
Without all the dirt on his face or his various baggage, he looked a bit smaller and a bit more lanky, almost awkwardly so. He was extremely tall for a wood elf, probably just shy of five and a half feet. His chocolaty brown hair was pulled back from his face by a thong, and his tanned skin contrasted almost beautifully with the pale flesh of the scar running the length of his cheek; he was too far in his years to be childishly pretty but he was just young enough to look devilishly rogue with hints of almost boyish charm. The amiable scoundrel effect was completed by a faint dusting of beard along his jaw, chin, and upper lip; he had dark green war paint decorated over his eye, making him look the right amount of formidable.
The whole effect was mesmeric.
"I'm Erik, obviously." The young man spouted out of nowhere, holding out a hand towards the wood elf. He felt his blush coming back but he didn't much care; the blush didn't even make sense, the elf wasn't any different from-
"I'm Bain." The elf said, his long fingers gripping Erik's, and that's when Erik realized what the difference was: the elf was attractive to Erik. Maybe exotic was a better word, but it was an undeniable fact. Erik wasn't scarred by the information, per say, but a tad taken aback. It wasn't like there were a lot of young men or women his age running around Rorikstead; he'd never entertained ideas of finding anyone until he was older because there was simply no one for him to find now. His stomach warmed curiously as the Bain smiled once more.
The elf let go of his hand and leant back in the chair, and the Nord continued chopping and mixing ingredients; the only sounds were the spoon scrapping the bottom of the kettle and the popping fire, with the clink of metal on wood from the counter Mralki stood behind. When the stew was finally done, Erik's father produced a slightly stale loaf of bread from a bread box under the counter and distributed it among the three of them in hunks; Erik retrieved a jug of spiced wine from the cellar and watered it down a bit to make it last. They ate in companionable silence unless Bain brought up a topic of discussion; Erik lightly scraped the surface of Bain's expertise with a bow, which lead to a long winded and elaborate tale of his adventures and less elaborate misadventures, which Mralki tolerated in the sake of not causing some sort of scene. Erik reveled in the elf's company, and when Erik's father retired for the night, they stayed up late into the evening discussing everything from local fauna to whimsical rumors to their favorite books.
"I personally love the Mystery of Talara chronicles." Bain said with mirth.
"No!" Erik laughed back, slapping a knee.
"They're very well written! And who doesn't like reading about prostitutes and royalty and murder mysteries?" Bain snickered, taking a sip from his tankard.
Erik chuckled again, running a finger over the lip of his cup. "I really liked the Windhelm Letters."
Bain smiled; it was all teeth and amusement. "I read that. It was interesting."
"It's somewhat sad; a mother left behind to keep her kids safe but worried for her husband's security. She goes so far as to storm a castle and go against guards just so she can make sure her children get fed, and then you never find out if she survived or if her and her husband reunite. It's beautifully maddening."
Bain was simply smirking at him now, a pleasant gaze contentedly watching Erik as he talked. Erik smiled back, then away into his mug, color fighting it's way to his face. They sat like that without saying a word for a short age until Bain took one more swig of wine and stood up stretching, lean muscles popping and bulging slightly against the back of his undershirt, which he had stripped to a little ways after Mralki's bid goodnight.
"I believe it is a most Gods forsaken hour we find ourselves in, Erik," Bain said with a tired grin, turning to him, "it can't be more than two hours past midnight, and I know I need rest." The elf picked up his over shirt and his smaller bags as Erik stood and dowsed the fire a little, just enough to keep the coals but not too little to start a fire on its own.
"That was…a really wonderful talk, Erik. I haven't sat and really talked with anyone in ages. Thank you."
Erik smiled to himself as he bent to pick up their dishes. "You're welcome. I should thank you, I haven't sat and talked like that with anyone ever." He laughed and earned a chuckle from the elf. There was a very slight lull.
"Will I see you in the morning?" Erik heard himself ask the Bosmer quietly as he pushed the cork back in the wine. A small hush followed and then, "Of course."
Erik smiled. "Then goodnight to you, Bain.
He could almost hear the elf's coy smile as he replied softly, "Good night, Erik."
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Erik did see Bain the next morning and for a complete week after that, which was disputably one of the best weeks Erik could ever remember having. They spent many late nights talking or just sitting together by the fire, and the red headed Nord couldn't remember a time when he had enjoyed himself more. The Bosmer was periodically taking care of a large camp of Forsworn for the Jarl over the way, and each day he would set off with bow in hand and knapsack slung over his shoulder towards their camp; he always came back before dusk with new riches and even richer tales. Bain taught Erik many things about hunting and trapping and tracking, and the Bosmer's smooth tongue and polite manners somehow convinced Mralki to let him rent his room at a discount for that whole time he stayed. It probably wasn't so much Bain's charm itself as it was Mralki's happiness at seeing his son seem so free and content in the elf's presence.
The discount wasn't the only thing Bain convinced Mralki of. Over that week, Bain had picked up on Erik's tired struggle with the melancholy life of a farmer; he saw the fire that blazed in the Nord's eyes whenever the elf talked of fighting Draugr or rescuing captives from bandits, and he wished more than anything Erik could experience that for himself. When he brought it up with Mralki, he was very much against the idea, and with solid, good reasons, but Bain eased him into the idea, and with a final ditch effort of paying for Erik's armor out of his own pocket, Bain was able to convince the old innkeeper to take his son to Whiterun and get him outfitted in everything he needed. When Bain told Erik later that night, after everyone had gone to bed, the Nord simply sat there, staring at him in bewilderment.
"That…is what you wanted, is it not, serjo?" Bain asked, the proud grin he had been displaying wavering a little. It returned in full force as Erik rose to his feet (hauling the lighter man with him) and threw his muscled arms around the elf.
"More than anything, my friend. You…you have done me a service that I can't repay you for." Erik's voice was thick and low sounding, and he tried to swallow the lump in his windpipe, but it grew tenfold as the Bosmer slide a hand up and then down the side of his neck. In the pit of his stomach, something sparked; a peculiarly jumpy feeling deep within his bowls that both thrilled and confused him.
"I don't need payment, Erik," Bain replied in a hushed tone, "Being able to help you is all the payment I need. You will make a great adventurer someday, I know it," He smiled then, eyes half lidded, "hunter's intuition."
The elf was flush against Erik, and the Nord was short of breath, on the verge of panting as Bain brought his other hand up to cup either side of Erik's neck. It was too damned hot, the Nord thought, as he secured his arms even tighter around the Bosmer, lifting Bain a few inches closer to his lips. He wasn't sure what he was doing, couldn't depict the right or wrong moves in the sea of orange he was drowning in, but the way the other man's eyes were glazed over with want made Erik want to do things to Bain; make him whimper and whine and writhe against him in throws of passion. Bain was only inches away now, so close to his lips he could feel it when the elf whispered, "I think I like you far too much than I really should, Erik."
Before Erik could reply or even form coherent thoughts, the elf had pushed away from him gently, taking a few stumbling steps back.
"I'll…I'll be setting out in the morning."
"O-oh?" Erik replied breathlessly, his hands falling to grip the ends of his shirt. He was quite dazed, to say the very least; leading a man on and then announcing you would be leaving him in a matter of hours did things to the head.
"I cleared out the camp this morning." Bain replied, his hands connecting in front of him, playing with the small silver band he wore; it was a nervous twitch the elf preformed when he was trying to calm nerves, a little habit that Erik had picked up on, mostly because it was the only time he saw Bain fidget and the elf became rather endearing when wriggling around like so.
Erik balked again at the smoothness of the elf's tone. "Oh."
"I need to return to the Jarl before he sends more men…you know how it goes." The words were hollow on both their ears, and Bain began turning the ring on his finger faster; he was trying to throw some sort of wall up again, and seemed to be failing miserably.
"Will you…come back? After you've met with Jarl Igmund?" Erik asked hurriedly, hope and a tad bit of outrage unabashed in his pale eyes and delicate voice. All movement stopped from the elf.
"I…I don't know."
A flash of emotion boiled up in Erik; anger, worry, longing. "Dammit, Bain, how do you not know?"
Bain flinched a little. "It's complicated, Erik, I lead a rather complex life-" He stopped a moment to stare at the Nord, before saying, "You look rather lovable when you're angry."
"Don't switch the topic, knife-ears." The younger man snapped without venom, and then, as quiet as the thought had been itself-
"Take me with you."
It was Bain's turn to hesitate; he started twiddling his fingers again as he ducked his head to look at the ground.
"Erik, I deal with many things you would have never even dreamed of, things I've never shared with you out of fear of being rejected," The elf finally said in a hushed tone, "The kind of life I lead isn't the kind you'd want or generally need, and I am not the kind of person you want to be associated with out there," Bain said as he thrust a finger towards the inn door, indicating the world outside of Rorikstead.
Erik chuckled. "Be that the unobvious case, I've always wanted a life of adventure, and adventure follows you wherever you go; why stay here and wait when I can go with someone I actually care about keeping alive and having wild escapades with now?"
The Bosmer stared at Erik long and hard after his statement, scrutinizing the Nord. Erik felt much like a choice steer at market, but he kept from fidgeting under Bain's gaze.
"…Do you truly mean that?" Bain finally asked, still staring at him intently.
"Mean what?" Erik replied, brows knitting together in confusion; the elf talked in riddles sometimes and the Nord rarely had the patience to try to figure his meanings out by himself.
"That you care if I live or die," Bain said bluntly, "That I sleep through the night to draw breathe in the morning, or notch an arrow in an opponent before they strike with their blade. Do you mean what you said?"
Erik gradually began to nod, his brow still knit. "Why are you even asking? That's just silly Bain, of course I'd care if you died."
The elf gave a sighing sort of laugh as he tumbled into Erik, arms twining around the Nord for support. "You care far more than most, Erik. Far more than most." Erik just shook his head in exasperation and held the elf, a small smile settling on his features.
If he went to bed that night dreaming of pale scars and tawny brown eyes, he would have never admitted it.
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(OH LAWDY LAWDY. It almost got smutty there towards the end, didn't it? XD Oh well, maybe in later chapters.
I have no clue why I wrote this; it really serves no purpose besides showing how Bain and Erik hooked up, but oh well, it's a nice base for future chaps…idk if I'll continue this as a story or do large ficlets of all my characters, we shall see. XD
SOME NOTES OF IMPORT:
Sera: is the equivalent of "sir" or "ma'am"; used mostly by the elven races. Ex: "You look great this evening, sera."
Serjo: means "friend" or "dear one". Ex: "Are you okay, serjo?"
Muthsera: a very high title of respect, such as "lord/lady" or "master". Ex: "As you wish, muthsera."
Ummm…yeah, hope this didn't bore anyone to tears, you guys know me and my overwhelming amount of details. ;XD If I missed anything, or you have suggestions, mention them in a review, you guys know I love those too. XD Anyway, hope you enjoyed this little ditty. Stay tuned; Kisses! ~RforRebel)